


Call me by my Name

by Miss Hiraya (Miss_Hiraya)



Category: SB19 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Author is trying, Character Deaths, Death in general, Gen, Gun Violence, Heavily implied suicide, I'm Sorry, M/M, Reaper!AU, bear with me, scenes of death, some blood, stell is the reaper, the fates be bored but fond of humans, the reapers be masters of brewing tea, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:26:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Hiraya/pseuds/Miss%20Hiraya
Summary: Rule number one: Names hold power. It is not just an identity, but it is an entire life that you acknowledge. Call them by their name.Some days, the rule is not easy for a reaper like him.
Relationships: Stellvester "Stell" Ajero/John Paulo Nase | Sejun
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Call me by my Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [R_ATIN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_ATIN/gifts).



> Hi! This is heavily inspired by user @/LeFabGeek's Stell fanart on twitter:
> 
> https://twitter.com/LeFabGeek/status/1300313160893698049?s=19
> 
> Hello, authornim! This one's for you! Thank you for the wonderful idea. Um. I tried my best?
> 
> Trigger Warning Ahead for: 
> 
> (1) Themes of death, I mean this is a reaper!au so...  
> (2) Heavily-implied suicide, there's nothing graphic, but the thought is there.
> 
> Please do take care of yourselves, okay?
> 
> That out of the way, enjoy!

He stood as a quiet intruder inside a pristine, white-painted room. His presence alone contrasted all colors of life around him. Unlike his unknowing co-occupants, he was silent, watching. Time trickled by slowly, and yet surely, bleeding from its vessel. Life, too, escaped in careful, steady drips from the now weak and tired body of his charge.

He tried not to eat too much space. He already feels like a trespasser wherever he does his job.

"Are you here for me?" The dying man on the bed struggled to form words through his failing breaths. His family, if possible, wailed louder. It's not a pleasant sound in any setting at all, but he's long accustomed to it. The question was not new either, as most of his jobs in the past had him exposed to them in their last moments.

> **Rule number one:** _Names hold power. Not just identity, but it is an entire life that you acknowledge. Call them by their name._

Most days, the rule is easy.

"Arthur." He called. His name was well-used, more often in kind, loving tone. What a good life he lived. The man smiled, despite the dulling glow in his eyes. Someone held the old man's hand, caressing, as if comforting. The man didn't quite leave his stare on him, though. He wouldn't blame the man. Here he was, standing rigidly with a crisp, three-piece black suit, a hat, and a look that probably belonged better to some centuries ago. If that wasn't disorienting enough, then it would probably the enormous pair of jet black wings tucked behind him like a feathery shroud. 

It's funny. He's only felt visible and alive in these moments, as he brings a trail of afterlife with him. The heavens must have made this out of their twisted humor, but he didn't mind. He works for them, after all.

He's seen many different eyes, many different lives, and heard many, many unspoken stories from their voices, too. He doesn't quite wish he could have any of them, but he is curious as to how it feels. Living.

"You've lived a long life with people who loved you, Arthur." He extended his gloved hand. It was the same hand that held the red envelope with the old man's name earlier. "Come. Let's have tea."

  
He invited with a soft upward curve of his lips. His spiel never changed. He said the same words in the same monotone. Sometimes, when he feels fond, he gives a soft, almost sympathetic smile along with them, too.

Arthur chuckled and for a long while, it drowned out the beeping noises and the sound of grief reverberating across the room. "I'm not a tea person, Mister." He took the gloved hand, nonetheless.

The room shifted in a blink. The white concrete walls were now replaced by warm mahogany. The smell no longer smelled like antiseptic. Candles lit up the small quaint room. It was almost barren, save for an old wooden table and two opposite chairs at the center. Nonetheless, it was warm. It had the atmosphere of home that everybody could easily relate to. Well, everybody who knew what home is, really.

He waved a hand, motioning for Arthur to sit on the chair on the left. As soon as the old man did, the cup appeared. It's a simple one this time, decorated minimally with flower petals close to the brim, but one could easily tell it was carved with thoughtfulness.

Such was the life of Arthur, 87 years old. An honest man who created and molded art with calloused hands that knew how to draw with a chisel instead of words with a pen. A faithful husband, a giving father, a doting grandfather.

  
Yes, he thought, the tea will taste sweet today.

* * *

_"He's a stubborn one. Do you really think it's time?"_

_"Not yet, but soon."_

* * *

Some days, it's not easy.

A girl looked out from behind the railings. She looked thoughtful from a distance, almost childish as she watched down the busy streets below while tiptoeing. She looked no older than twenty, her appearance a picture of youthfulness especially whe she turned to him with a sweet, dimpled smile.

Her eyes were twin pools of void. Even the whipping winds in this rooftop could not measure up to the lack of warmth in her abyss.

"I wish I had wings like you." She said, looking back to where she was staring once he approached beside her. It's a clear night, he thought. 

If he was poetic enough, he'd say the skies lost another star tonight. 

What must one do to have wings like him? He didn't know, either. He's not known anything else in his existence except how to brew tea and how to guide people to their afterlives. He wished he knew. 

Though, that would make one impossible wish and one impossible question. It's probably too much for this night. In the end, he just stood there. Rigid and stoic, keeping the red envelope inside his vest for a little bit longer. With it, he also kept her name from spilling from his lips. Just a while longer. The girl looked down to her lost life with a rueful smile.

  
In days like this, he made the tea warmer than usual. 

* * *

_"I thought you favored him?"_

_"He needs a little push."_

_"You've gone soft."_

_"I've gone bored."_

* * *

Usually, he didn't ask questions. It's not in his line of work. Not in his nature. He likened his curiosity as just a temporary muse who'll eventually leave him. Then again, when he received a black instead of a red envelope, his mouth opened before he could think about it.

"What does this mean?" 

"It means that the person will die with intervention from below." His superior answered without much preamble, probably expecting the question. In all his years of service, this was the first time he's received an envelope of another color. At once, his curiosity got the better of him.

"Intervention from below?"

His senior patted his back. "Be careful. Don't do anything rash. Don't worry, he can't hurt you."

He was left bewildered at the other's last words. He didn't have a choice, though. It's not like he could find his answers not doing anything. And it's not like finding his answers would help him do his job anyway.

It's not in his line of work. Not in his nature.

He dusted his hat one more time before going for the address. A nearby local bar. He made a face when he arrived, not that anybody would see him. He's not really fond of these places. To him, this much chaos concentrated in one area makes for a disaster waiting to happen.

He's right, in a way. He found his charge on the street, sitting with a far-away look in her eyes. Her posture was defeated, her eyes full of tears, her lips quivering and repeating the same words. "No, no, this can't happen. Not yet. My brother, he needs me. Not yet, please."

The perpetuator had already escaped, off to his next target. She was just a bystander. An innocent vendor. He knew her grief too well. He had seen it from many souls before. The denial, the begging. The grief not for their own, but for others. 

The woman was a loving and caring older sister, died trying to make a living for her younger, sickly brother. Such was the life that her name had lived. "You had a short but well-lived life, Daisy. Take pride."

He kept the invitation at bay as he watched her weep inconsolably for a few beats, not knowing what to do other than to let her emotions boil down. His wings twitched before he sensed a disturbance behind him, a few feet away.

Its foul presence could be felt even from here. Instinctively, he covered the fragile human, but the demon only laughed in its scratchy, gravel and sand voice that can split ground.

"Found you."

For the first time in his existence, he didn't know what else to do. He only knew how to reap souls. It was not in their domain to care for the damned entities, much less demons. They had no afterlife to go to, so guiding them would really be impossible.

His thoughts ran a mile a minute, not knowing what to do. The threat he felt deep in his bones was real though, as the demon casually strolled towards him with a sweet, saccharine grin. 

Then, it stopped. A second later, another gunshot echoed at the next block. It laughed then, clapping its human hands. It threw a mocking kiss in the air; its manic, gleaming red hues winking his way before disappearing in a thick, black smoke.

It took him an hour to make the girl finally drink the tea. It tasted bittersweet, he knew even without getting a sip. Somehow, it only added to the heavy feeling in his gut as he recalled the eyes that stared right into his.

* * *

The black envelopes came frequently to his way now, and he couldn't help but notice that in every case, it's because of the demon he saw that night. While he usually wasn't easily triggered by any macabre sight or inhuman sin from his charges, something sparked in him when he laid down to rest three siblings. Too young to die. Too young to burn down in flames. 

He's worked with younger, for sure. But their names were never inked in white across coal-black parchment. 

What's more, every time they meet, he's always a step late to catch a few seconds glimpse of the demon. It's frustrating that it makes his head hurt. He never cared before, so this was new to him too.

He doesn't hold the hands of time for anybody living. The Fates do. That's why they send their letters in red, to show that in their own ways they loved what they created. Maybe the anger boiling in his gut was at the fact that he never knew his job meant receiving all kinds of letters. That he worked not just for the ones above, but also down below.

  
"Don't stress too much. Theirs is still part of the cycle." His superior told him gently as if placating his rare burst of emotion. His clenched fist might have signalled the older of his thoughts that he covered it with his warm palm. "Don't let him get to you. The others are on it."

"I'll find him."

The senior stared at him with a raised eyebrow, "You don't know the first thing about what to do." 

He felt lightheaded. Is it really this much taxing to feel anything like humans do? Nonetheless, he found himself clinging to it, as if desperate for a change that he didn't know he needed.

"Then, tell me."

* * *

_"I take it back. You're cruel."_   
_"Maybe."_

* * *

The next time they meet, it's at a forest. He wouldn't admit it, but it took more time than usual to find the lost boy that was mercilessly dumped here. 

"Carl." He called softly to the boy. The human was young, well-loved, doted and sheltered. Even in its short span, his life brought warmth as soon as he uttered the name. Alas, it had to end this way- in this remote forest, where the young one trembled and sobbed as he curled to a ball next to his human body. The little one didn't seem to hear him until sharp claws nudged him from behind.

The boy scampered to his side immediately, hiding himself under his wing with almost tangible fear for the intruder.

"Did you like it?"

The demon asked in a sing-song, grinning with its sharp teeth and forked tongue licking at the edges of his purple, rotting lips. Its eyes, blood-red and glimmering in unabashed glee, stared at him like he's an amusement it very much enjoyed.

He didn't deign an answer. 

It cackled maniacally, the noise visibly shaking the whole forest. "It took me a long, long, long time to find you. They really treasured you, didn't they? I even offered lots and lots, but they never brought me to you.. Until now. _Hmm~_ "

Its booted foot stepped across dead leaves and weak soil, leaving decay in its trail. "I really didn't know if I finally got the address right, or if they meant to finally play with me now but~ no matter, I found you! Did you like my gifts? Lovely deaths aren't they, reaper?"

"Sejun." He finally said in a low, calm voice.

Instead of being alarmed at being called by a reaper, the demon only giggled. "You finally know my name! Say it again!"

  
In a blink, Sejun was a hairsbreadth away from his face, the demon's stench tickling his nose. Its look was even more terrifying up close, like an embodiment of someone's nightmare. " **Say it!** Say it like you mean it!" It howled, the grin rapidly shifting into a rabid snarl.

Claws the dug around his neck until it bled and he was almost gasping for air. It was strong. Strong enough that it even evaded most of the reapers across the country for so long. It was centuries old, powerful. Somehow, it only managed to get to his radar recently. Should he feel honored? Probably not.

He wasn't afraid now, though. He knew what to do. He wasn't human enough to feel any self-preservation, but he knew finally what anger and frustration was.

Maybe he should thank the demon for it.

In one swift move, he grabbed the other's wrist, pinning the other in a locked position. Its expression changed rapidly into confusion, then fear.

"Sejun Nase. Answer to me." It began thrashing as soon as his wrists burned at his touch. "Answer to me, demon." He raised his voice just a bit higher to be heard against the tortured screeches. "Sejun Nase!"

" _Sejun_!" 

"Stell! Stell- Stell, Stell, please- _ah_ \- please, it hurts!"

The demon's features contorted into pure agony. He didn't feel any of it, or for it. He didn't even know whose name it was uttering. A deity? Someone from below? How pitiful.

He watched coldly while it writhed to his touch. It made pitiful attempts to get away, but the burns sapped its energy to put up a fight. The proud insanity that it once had now was reduced to pitiful screams. He tightened his hold on the wrist, his other hand now locked around the other's throat.

  
The child. He almost forgot about the child. "Carl, cover your ears." He said evenly. He didn't know if the young one obeyed, but it's not like he'll remember this after drinking the tea later, anyway.

"Stell, stelll.. Love..-" He turned his attention back to the writhing, smoking mass in front of him.

"Sejun Nase. Answer to me." He repeated.

He felt liquid cascade down to his fingers that were around its throat. Was the demon crying? That would be ridiculous. If there was any similarity between reapers and demons, it was their lack of things humans called emotions.

He shook his head, unbothered by its misplaced and delirious pleas. "Sej-"

"Reaper- _Reaper_. Yes, I know-"

He stopped. Immediately, he let go. He watched the demon crumple to the ground into a miserable mess of whimpers. He's not sadistic enough to feel victory for it.

"Sejun Nase. You've lived a long life." He said, as steady and calm as he always did. The owner of the name chuckled with a hoarse voice, "I've been dead for a long time, love." It rolled to its back, staring above with an uncharacteristic emotion on its malevolent appearance. 

"Stell, I'm sorry." It said, softer now, red hues mellowed and searching for something up in the blanket of leaves or probably beyond that where the night sky was.

He felt nothing then, but when that name was uttered again, suddenly his curiosity got the better of him again.

"Who are they?"

The question seemed to turn the demon's attention back to him. Closer, anyone could see his features melting from its sinister look to a more human look. Ash and sparks of red flitted about the air, its skin scorched and the marks spreading rapidly. Burning. It was burning in flames. It smiled, teeth no longer sharp and lips no longer purple. 

He. It was a he. He smiled at the reaper. It's a look not unlike Arthur's warm acceptance and the girl at the rooftop's rueful regret. "I-I'll tell you. It's.. It's not much of a good story, th-though..."

Stories. Emotions. Feelings. He felt envious that this demon had them, too. However, he knew for himself craved for this patch of time when he's visible. If only for a moment, even in the eyes of someone as hateful as the creature in front of him.

For once, he sat down. Even with his huge wings tucked neatly loosely behind him, the action was still a slight struggle. Even so, he crossed his legs beside the slow, burning pyre that was once the demon. "I have time."

"C-come closer.."

He scoffed, but he knew the other couldn't even lift a finger by now and hurt him even if he wanted to. He motioned to move closer, but was only shocked when a surprisingly strong hand pulled him closer by the nape.

Reflexively, he struggled, already about to end the other's miserable existence and maybe regret later having to prolong his interaction with a heartless demon. Something soft pressed against his lips. Then, his own breathing stopped just as the world did.

* * *

A distant time, a barren land. Suddenly, he felt. Too much. Too many things at once. He struggled in someone's hold, someone's iron grip. The rope around his arms tightened to the point of dislocation of his limbs. A sore cry escaped his lips. It didn't matter; they're muffled by strong, dirt-clad palms.

They tasted copper. 

Around him, bodies littered on the ground. His men, he knew, he suddenly knew each face and each name. He remembered. They're fighting, spilling blood on the soil- his soil. His people.

A battle cry roused from the east, a roar not unlike a beast. A warrior swept across the field, towards him, for him. "My prince- my prince!"

Like vultures, the enemies descended unto him, surrounding him. He saw, he thought, he knew it wouldn't end well. "Seju-"

He struggled, called his name carelessly to the wind. What would it do? What could it do? He's only bound to his knees, eating dirt and tasting copper on his tongue. 

He screamed, biting the hand trapping his voice. 

"SEJUN! COMMANDER, ANSWER TO ME!"

For a few frenzied beats his heart made against his heaving chest, he heard nothing. He heard grunts, and whistles of weapons in the air. He heard death from blooded lips of his own people calling his name. He heard not the man he called for.

His vision blurred as something hit him mercilessly in the head, the blood trickling down his temples suddenly too warm and too much. He couldn't even form a scream at the impact. Consciousness began to trickle away, abandoning him too-

"S-seju-"

He thought he heard someone call for him, but everything crashed around him. Death felt like a warm embrace as he succumbed to its darkness. He thought he heard his loyal commander, far, far away screaming. His executioner, his faithful protector. His lover.

Yet he didn't hear the promise in the other's voice, when he finally closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, he's stripped to nakedness, bared and exposed to the bones. How long had it been? His sluggish mind supplied a blank slate. It's too much. Everything's too much. Is this how it felt to _feel_? To be human? Why does it hurt? Why did it suffocate him?

This wasn't what he wanted, no. He felt that he's lost many in this nightmare, too much. He felt that he's lost enough and it left him numbed as people finally left his space- his cell.

He couldn't. He couldn't wait. He couldn't hold on any longer. What for?

He felt himself laugh, and it's a sound that seemingly crawled out from the depths of hell. How broken. How brittle. How wretched he sounded.

A small voice in his head, he's not sure whose, told him to stay. _Wait_.

He couldn't. He's lost more than enough. There's nothing left to lose, so why bother? He's no prince now, just a prisoner left to rot. He's no decent person at all; he's failed his people. He's killed and damned them all. He's no good lover. He's left his beloved alone in that field, forsaken, condemned to breathe his last under red-colored skies.

He couldn't stay.

* * *

The nightmare ripped him from the inside. He suddenly felt too raw, too sensitive, too overwhelmed with emotions he's suddenly introduced like he's known them for his entire existence and before that.

The air that escaped him when he gasped awake jostled the wind around them. The wind that carried the ashes, the remnants of the dem- no,

Sejun, _his_ Sejun. His loyal commander. His protector. His faithful beloved. 

"I've come for you now. I'm sorry it took this long, my prince. I'm sorry you had to go on your own."

"N-no, no. No, Sejun! Stay! Stay with me!" He tried to hold the other together, but he only crumbled and disintegrated further into dust. He tried to hold the other by his face, but that too, he felt withering to his touch. 

"-'tried to go to you, but I couldn't, _hmm_ \- couldn't follow you. I waited- sold my soul.. They kept you, s-still."

  
He didn't want to hear this. Not here. Not now, when all he could hear was death creeping closer to them. He refused to hear this, head shaking and voice growling with an emotion he's never shown before, "ANSWER TO ME!"

His smile cracked at the edges, but it's a smile he knew all too well after spending years and years guiding people to their afterlives. 

"Only you, my prince... Stell, I answer only to you.."

The final syllable of Sejun's words faded, just like how the rest fo his ashes burned and turned to wisps of smoke. 

The reaper bowed his head, arms cradling dirt. Now, he's not just that. He's Stell, the fallen prince to a forgotten empire. He's Stell, who took his own life seconds before his savior arrived- He's _lived_.

He knew now. He knew too late.

His tears wet the ground. The forest swayed with the gentle wind, and he screamed with it with every fiber of his being. He called. But this time, nobody answered.

* * *

_"Why did it take you this long?"_

_"They needed to pay."_

_"And do you think they paid enough?"_

_"Perhaps. Perhaps, enough to grant another chance."_

_"I knew it. You favor them too much."_

_"Perhaps. Perhaps I'm just too fond of tragic love stories."_

_"Fond of broken, hopeless souls who gave up your gift or those desperate, stubborn ones who bartered the gift given to them for a sinful wish?"_

_"Mmm, perhaps both."_

_"You've gone bored."_

_"No.. I've gone soft."_

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist the Goblin!reference. Have you seen Stell??? In a suit???? He legit looks like Lee Dong Wook, okay.
> 
> To everyone reading especially, R_ATIN:
> 
> Okay, um- Sorry? 
> 
> *slowly backs away* 
> 
> Happy StellJun sailing!


End file.
